So On We Go
by loobeyloo
Summary: Eagle Lake, Spring Break 1962 and a happy family day trip ends in tragedy.
1. Chapter 1

This story is slightly different and again I have only borrowed the characters from Mr Bellisario and co. The title was inspired by the song, He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother, by The Hollies, and is the first line of the second verse, which goes:

So on we go, his welfare is my concern, no burden is he, we'll get there, for I know, he would not encumber me, he ain't heavy, he's my brother ...

So On We Go …..

Eagle Lake, California,

Spring Break, 1962.

"Lemme …. I wanna …. Sinj …."

"No, dweeb, you'll drop it."

"Won't …"

"Will too, now get outta the way, squirt!"

"Don't call me squirt! I'm not a baby!

"Are too!"

"Am not!

"Just move outta the way will ya!"

"Hey, guys, keep the volume down will you, you're scaring the fish!"

There was more than a hint of irritation in Steven Hawke's voice, which inspired his beautiful and long suffering wife, Connie, to lay a steadying hand on his forearm as he glowered at the two young men on the jetty, who were supposed to be helping to load supplies into the boat ready for their trip.

Connie watched them now too, her pretty sky blue eyes dancing with amusement, and understandable pride.

Yes, definitely young men, not kids.

Although, the way they were acting right now it was hard to believe that St John had just turned seventeen, while the 'squirt', his brother, Stringfellow had turned twelve at the beginning of the year.

She regarded them both now with the critical, but loving eye of a mother.

St John had filled out recently, strong wide shoulders and broad chest, more muscle too, evident in the straining of the material of the T-shirt he was wearing, which had fitted him perfectly just a few weeks ago.

Probably all that lumber he had been helping his father to cut, she thought with a soft smile.

His skin had cleared up a little too, thanks to the fresh air and sunshine.

He was a handsome, strong and healthy young man.

Stringfellow had had something of a growth spurt too, evident in the gap between the hem of his faded jeans and his deck shoes, revealing a couple of inches at least of bare ankle over the top of his socks. He was going to need new pants for school, she made a mental note, and then added new shoes to the list too ….

"I said, keep it down to a dull roar, huh, or we go nowhere!" Steven bellowed and again his wife squeezed her hand around his forearm, drawing his gaze away from where their wonderful sons continued to bicker and shove and jostle each other on the very edge of the jetty, neither caring that if they persisted, in all likelihood, one or the other of them was going to end up taking an early bath.

"Take it easy, honey," she tried to soothe her exasperated husband, after all this was meant to be a fun family day out, but if the flush that was creeping up Steven Hawke's cheeks was any indication, his blood pressure was already up through the roof.

She was worried about him.

At least he had tried to get into the mood, ditching the suit and the stiff collar and tie in favour of jeans and a casual shirt. He hadn't shaved or combed his hair either, she realised with a flash of amusement and looked very rough and rugged this morning, a look she much preferred to the slick, well groomed business type she usually sent off out of the house in the mornings, if she was absolutely honest ….

He had a very demanding job, with JPL, Jet Propulsion Laboratories over at Caltech in LA, deeply involved in Project Mercury the first human spaceflight program which meant spending time away from home at NASA in Houston and at the Cape in Florida, and he was almost at that age where men in stressful careers suddenly keeled over and unexpectedly died from coronaries.

Usually the most placid, docile and reasonable man on the planet, in recent months Steven had grown agitated and easily riled, and it had to be said, their boys did seem to have a knack for pressing all the right buttons to get his hackles raised.

_**Boys will be boys ….**_

She had tried talking to Steven, trying to get him to open up to her, but all he would say was that it was work, not her or the kids, and that he couldn't talk about it, but, all being well, in the next few months, things would resolve themselves, that things would get back to normal again.

Connie's reaction had been that if they damned job was going to end up killing him, why not just walk away from it and be done with it, after all, it wasn't like they were short of a penny or two. They were comfortable now, so he could afford to relax and sit back and enjoy the bounties he had worked so hard to achieve.

Lately, not even the peace and tranquillity of their weekend retreat, the log cabin that had been in the Hawke family for almost a hundred years, on the shores of Eagle Lake, seemed to work its magic.

He didn't seem to be able to relax and was inclined to go off at the deep end over very small and insignificant things.

Usually the boys' shenanigans amused him because he knew it was only youthful exuberance and high spirits, but today he was genuinely annoyed with the pair of them, and, if she was honest, she felt like crowning them herself.

"Leave them, sweetheart," she applied pressure to his arm now, indicating with her eyes to the ice chest at her feet, hoping that he would take the hint.

He smiled his understanding and drawing in a deep, calming breath, he was just about to bend down to pick up the chest, which was stocked with bottles of Coke and ginger beer, and the carefully wrapped fish that Steven had gone out early to catch this morning so that they could have them for lunch, when there was a loud shriek from the other end of the jetty, and now both Steven and Connie were turning in horror to see what all the fuss was about, expecting to see severed limbs and copious amounts of blood at the very least ….

"I told ya to move, dork!" St John, red faced, blue eyes blazing had poor young Stringfellow by the shirt collar and had bodily lifted him almost clear of the jetty, only the tips of the younger boys shoes scraping the wooden decking. "You stupid long streak of ..."

"_**Sinjin Hawke**_!"

Steven's angry raised voice immediately drew two sets of blue eyes in his direction and sent birds scattering from the trees.

"Don't you dare even think of finishing that sentence, if you want to live to see the end of the day!" He warned in dark, angry tones which left both boys in no doubt that they had come very close to crossing the line with their father.

"What have I told you about minding your mouth around your mother? And for crying out loud boy, put him down!"

St John immediately released his brother's shirt collar and the younger boy dropped back down onto the jetty and immediately rushed at St John and gave him a mighty shove in the belly, pushing him back toward the shore, badly winding him.

"You little runt!" St John grunted, rushing straight back at Stringfellow to give him a hard shove on the shoulder in return.

"That's it! You …."

Steven stalked down the jetty toward both boys, and Connie Hawke found herself rolling her eyes heavenward in exasperation at all three of them, before drawing in a deep, calming breath.

_**If you want a job doing around here, girl, better do it yourself ….**_

She bent carefully and lifted the ice chest, balancing it on her knee until she was able to straighten up with it, and then walked into the fray.

As soon as he realised that she was struggling under the heavy burden, ever the gentleman, Steven Hawke immediately forgot the punishment he was about to dish out, and rushed back up the jetty to relieve Connie of the ice chest, and by the time he had turned around to carry it back down the jetty, Connie had given both of the boys one of her 'don't push your luck' glares over his shoulder, and they were both now staring down innocently at their feet, shuffling, and whistling through their teeth.

As she drew level with them she gave the boys another warning look, and now they both at least had the grace to look suitably chastised and shamefaced, glancing back up at her through their fringes, which both needed a trim, she found herself thinking absently as she reached the edge of the jetty, where from on the deck, Steven was waiting to help her aboard.

Both boys knew that she was silently reminding them of the little chat they had had over breakfast, while their father had been attending to putting together the supplies and checking the boat over for their trip out on the lake, when she had wasted no time in telling them both that this was supposed to be a family trip, a pleasure cruise, fun for the whole family, not just the two of them, and that Dad had been working hard and was a little stressed out right now, so he needed this time to relax.

Usually her little pep talks did the trick, after all they really weren't little kids any more, and could be reasoned with, and although from time to time they argued and disagreed like most siblings, generally they got along quite well, mostly due to the fact that Stringfellow hero worshiped St John, and St John just lapped up the attention like a movie star.

Until recently.

Connie knew what had caused the change in their relationship.

St John had discovered girls ….

Big time!

But not before time, in her own opinion.

And he had pretty quickly realised that having his kid brother hanging off his shirt tails, and his every word cramped his style.

Poor Stringfellow.

Still, his day would come.

They were good looking guys, her wonderful sons, each inheriting their father's slender physique and honey brown hair and her own piercing blue eyes.

St John had inherited his father's height, and had hit six feet last Fall, while poor Stringfellow seemed to have inherited his height from her and she suspected that he was never going to be taller than maybe five feet ten or eleven.

He was a little on the skinny side too, but she suspected that he would fill out a little, when those raging male hormones started kicking in.

Another reason for the change in St John's attitude to his brother.

His male hormones had been rampaging for a while, and bless him, he thought he was a man, while String was still a baby.

In personality, they were as different as chalk and cheese, but both were extremely intelligent, too damned smart for their own good sometimes, something else they had inherited from their rocket scientist father, and as for temperament, St John had a high tolerance and a long slow fuse, while String was volatile and erupted almost immediately, but then his anger burned it's self out just as quickly and he returned to his usual placid, easy going self, while St John tended to brood and hold a grudge a lot longer, often times going back to raise the same argument because he didn't feel he had gotten his point across the first time. St John preferred running battles while Stringfellow got it off his chest and moved on.

All in all, they had shaped up quite well.

It wasn't that it hadn't been hard work, but it hadn't been a major battle of wills either, and the fact that the boys had such nice personalities and were genuinely pleasant to be around had made it a little easier.

At first, she had worried about the difference in their ages, St John being nearly five years older than Stringfellow, and she had feared that after being an only child for so long, he would be jealous of the new baby when she brought him home from the hospital, but as it turned out, he had always wanted a baby brother and had accepted Stringfellow with open, loving arms, always watching over him and coming to tell her when he was crying, or laughing, or getting into trouble, or mischief …. Which quite often St John had led him right into in the first place!

Of course there had been the usual sibling rivalries, the jockeying for positing, always trying to get one over the other, and St John had gone through that teenage rebellion phase, which she still had to look forward to from Stringfellow, and the signs were already there, but all in all it hadn't been so bad, and she didn't have a single grey hair to show for it, so she counted herself extremely lucky in that department.

However, as with all offspring, they had their moments, and today looked as if it was going to be one of those days, despite her warnings.

"Well, are you two going to stand their all day?" Steven asked impatiently now as he assisted Connie over the handrail and onto the deck of the cabin cruiser which he had spent many a lazy summer building with his own fair hand and which was his pride and joy, all varnished wood and gleaming brass fittings.

The boys made no answer but swiftly followed their mother onto the deck of the boat, and then Steven Hawke was making his way to the bow, where he released the line securing them to jetty, and Connie patiently pushed Stringfellow out of her way so that she could do the same with the stern mooring line.

"Right then, let's shove off …."


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, chugging along nicely on the still crystal clear waters of Eagle Lake, following the shoreline down stream, Steven Hawke was sitting at the steering wheel, listening to String and St John bickering over how to bait a line properly and Connie opening and closing cupboard doors and drawers as she put away their supplies and rattling crockery and cutlery down in the galley as she made ready for their meal later.

"You must be a mind reader," Steven smiled at Connie as she appeared through the hatch from the galley with a cup of freshly brewed coffee for him.

She looked radiant in cut off jeans and a thin white blouse, the tails of which she had knotted together just under her bosom, revealing a tiny expanse of tan flat belly and had slipped her sun glasses on top of her head. Her long chestnut hair was tied up in a pony tail and she wore no make up. She didn't look a day older than when he had first met her, Steven Hawke found himself marvelling as he took the coffee cup from her, in fact, she looked more like a teenybopper than a woman who had just turned forty, about the same age as that girl St John had been admiring so much lately, and he knew that he loved her more than ever.

He was a damn lucky guy.

Blessed in many ways.

A beautiful, loving wife, two good looking and extremely likeable sons and one precious friend he would entrust his life to, and had many times over in the past.

Connie took a moment to savour the spectacular view, arching her spine carefully now to stretch the aching muscles in the small of her back, after hauling the ice chest and then spending all that time bending down there in the cramped galley, a soft smile of contentment spreading across her lips.

She loved their mountain retreat, and it did not bother her at all that they were so remote and isolated from the rest of civilisation here.

"Pity Dom couldn't make it," she echoed the thoughts she could see running through her husband's mind as he took a sip of the scalding coffee now.

Dominic Santini was Steven's oldest and their closest friend.

A big jovial and ebullient man, a larger than life character, he was a pretty big part of the family and would usually have been included in this little outing, however he had had to work today. A damned fine pilot, owning his own small air service, Dom had landed himself a job working a stunt for one of the big studios in Hollywood and had regretfully had to decline the invitation.

"I hope it goes ok …. He was tying himself in knots just thinking about it …."

"He'll be fine."

"He won't be sorry to have missed that …." Steven Hawke absently waved his coffee cup in the direction of his bickering sons, their slightly raised voices echoing off the mountains and lake.

"They wouldn't be doing _**that **_if he were here," Connie sighed softly, and Steven Hawke threw her a look that told her that he knew that she was right.

Good ole' Uncle Dom had both Hawke boys falling at his feet to lap up his over exaggerated and embellished war stories, and somehow always seemed to know exactly what to say to make them both laugh, or to diffuse awkward situations.

They adored him and were always on their best behaviour when Dom was around, trying to impress him, or coax him to teach them some new skill.

Steven Hawke had to admit that he had learned a lot about parenting from just watching the natural and easy way Dominic Santini related to the boys.

"What is it with those two?" Steven asked with genuine concern now as Connie came to stand beside him, leaning up against his side and resting her arm on his shoulder as she watched the boys, sitting up front with the legs of their jeans rolled up to their knees, socks off and their bare feet dangling only inches from the water, St John suddenly grabbing the bait box from String and threatening to shove a handful of the wriggling horrors down his throat if he didn't just shut the hell up!

Connie winced.

Where did they hear such language?

"Easy, sailor …." She gave Steven's shoulder a gentle squeeze when she felt him stiffen in response to his elder son's blasphemy, watching as both boys scrambled to their feet and squared off, twin chiselled jaws thrust out in defiance, shoulders thrust back and chests puffed out like a couple of farm yard roosters defending their territory, and suddenly it was hard not to smile at their antics.

At least they weren't swinging at each other, which was something to be thankful for, she thought to herself wryly.

The last time that had happened, when St John had gotten himself so worked up over something, he had inadvertently called String 'a big girl', her youngest chick had swiftly retaliated by throwing a terrific right hook, giving his brother a beautiful black eye, which his mother couldn't help thinking that he deserved ….

Just a little.

Connie had never gotten involved in solving their squabbles, knowing that they needed to be able to resolve things themselves, in whatever way it took. They had to be tough when it was called for, and to be able to defend themselves too, if necessary, so she had let them have their fistfights and shoving contests, not wanting String to be afraid of his older brother, or intimidated by him, encouraging him to stand his ground and fight back if he thought that it was what was needed, and also not wanting St John to think that he could get away with bullying the little guy because he was older and bigger, and then, when they were done and came to her to be patched up, she would sit them down and explain that having to resort to violence wasn't always the way to solve things, but, that she understood that sometimes, talking and reasoning just didn't get the job done either. However, that said, they should always try talking first!

Steven, on the other hand, was fond of lecturing them about self control, about keeping a lid on their tempers and not acting on their impulse to beat the stuffing out of each other, especially St John because he was the eldest and should be setting his little brother a good example.

As she watched her sons posturing and posing, she found herself wondering if this was how it was going to be from now on.

She hoped not.

Then she realised it was just a different variation of how things had always been. Jockeying for position, establishing just how far each could push the other. Redefining the rules of engagement.

They had always been such good friends.

She hoped that they would continue to be.

She felt a stab of real pain in her heart at the thought that perhaps as they grew older they would also grow apart, then told her self that she was being ridiculous.

Sometimes they might not actually like each other, but, she was certain that they loved each other.

St John would crawl through fire to help String, and String would suffer any indignity, humiliation or embarrassment if it meant that St John would spend time with him, and was proud of him.

"If they don't quit that, I'm going up there to bang their silly heads together …." Steven muttered through clenched teeth. "Or throw them both overboard …."

"That would certainly cool them down," she rolled her eyes heavenward briefly. "Drink your coffee love," Connie smiled lovingly up at her husband now. "It's quite normal. It's called growing up …." She told him softly.

"It's called overdosing on testosterone more like …."

"Well honey, you'd know more about that than I …." She chuckled softly at the sour expression on his dear face now. "Sinjin is almost a man, Steve. He's seventeen. You can't tell me you don't remember what that was like?"

"Sure do," he winced and again she chuckled.

"And String so desperately wants to be like him, _**to be him**_, to be a man, but the trouble is he's still got the physique of a child, and …."

She deliberately lowered her voice now so that there was no chance that the boys would overhear her motherly indiscretion.

"He still sounds like a girl in comparison to Sinj, now that his voice has broken. I caught him trying to shave …." She confided with a wicked grin on her face, their elder son's first attempts to remove the whiskers sprouting from his jaw having been cause for much mirth between them, if only in secret, a few months back, and now it seemed that Stringfellow was trying to emulate him in that too.

"Fortunately there was no actual blade in the razor. If there had been he would have been missing his nose right now …."

"String's only twelve, he shouldn't be worrying about anything except his next pimple! Why are they both in such a rush to grow up …." Steven lamented.

"And we weren't?" She arched an eyebrow at him, reminding him again that he too had been that age once, and that he too had wanted to grab the world by the throat, and he nodded gently.

"There is a big wide world out there waiting for them, all shiny and new, and full of adventures and things to see and do …. And it belongs to them."

"Remember when they used to be such good buddies?" Steven Hawke slipped his arm around his wife's slender waist now and drew her closer, tucking her in tight against his side, echoing the thoughts she had had only a few minutes before.

"They still are. It's just that they're growing up and their relationship is evolving. I remember when they used to suck their thumbs and played with their rubber ducks in the bathtub, but those days are long gone, Steve …. They're good. Just you wait and see," she assured him gently.

"I just hate the thought that as they get older, they might just grow to hate each other," he let out a deep sigh.

He knew that it wasn't unheard of for brothers and sisters to fall out over something seemingly insignificant, but which, in the long term resulted in them never seeing or speaking to each other.

"Never happen," she assured him. "It's just a phase," she promised. "They're good kids, Steven. We've been lucky, not a minute's real trouble from either of them," she reminded him gently, and Steven Hawke knew that she was talking about all the temptations out there in the world today and the times they were living in.

He was always reading in the newspapers about kids going off the rails, getting into trouble with the police, indulging in booze and drugs, and his worst nightmare had been that his beautiful sons would be exposed to those things, and not be able to resist that temptation.

The only thing he feared more was that one day one, or maybe even both of his glorious boys might have to answer the call to arms, as he had done, twice already, and that their lives might be ended prematurely by war.

He was familiar enough with both of their characters to know that neither of them would flinch from doing their duty, but he prayed that neither would ever have to face the prospect of going to fight in a war, after all, it was why he had flown combat in the Pacific and then again in Korea, so that young men like St John and Stringfellow would never have to.

He and Connie had tried to teach them right from wrong, had tried to guide them in the right direction, but they couldn't wrap them up in cotton wool for the rest of their lives, and ultimately, there were some decisions only they could make, according to their individual consciences.

"I know they could both try the patience of a saint sometimes, but …. Most kids do you know."

She reached up now to run her finger lovingly along his familiar chiselled jaw, another of his characteristics that both boys had inherited, strong and determined, and she had always seen it as part of their make up too, all the Hawke men, facing life with their heads back and jaws thrust out in defiance, taking the world on the chin.

"They're brothers, Steven, and that is a bond that can never be broken, no matter what. They may have different ideas about life, and where they are going, differences in opinions, but they have common roots and blood ties, and more importantly, they have friendship too. They're strong, Steven, and no matter what might come between them, they will always resolve it. We've raised them to always watch each other's backs, to stand up for themselves and each other, and I for one have no doubts that they will always be there for each other."

Up front, the boys continued to square off, glaring at each other, but their mother could tell from their body language that they were both getting bored, and she knew from past experience that pretty soon one of them would say something to make the other grin, and then they would be back to being the best of friends ….

At least that was how it had been in the old days ….

Before her man child had taken to posturing and strutting like a peacock!

And just to prove her point, instead of trying to punch his younger brother, St John suddenly reached out and began to tickle Stringfellow under the armpits.

"Hey!" Steven Hawke reacted to the suddenly explosion of sound, almost dropping his coffee all over himself, until he realised that it wasn't another wrestling match but a tickling fight and that they weren't screams of pain, but peels of laughter.

He turned to his lovely wife and gave her a pained, if slightly amused look, which she interpreted correctly as his exasperation at the abrupt change in mood.

Why was he so surprised?

They were just like him! Connie thought as she returned his smile. As changeable as mountain weather, all three of them!

Connie watched as both boys wriggled and squirmed trying to avoid sharp fingers digging into each others ribs, then fell on to the deck laughing like drains, St John grabbing String by the neck to get him in a headlock so he could ruffle his hair.

_**Men!**_

"Will you look at that …." Steven said out of the corner of his mouth, lifting his coffee cup to his lips once more.

"Make the most of it, honey …."

There was a hint of sadness in her voice, briefly, as she wondered just how many more happy days like this the Hawke family would spend together.

St John would be graduating High School soon, and then he would be off into the big wide world, college first, and then who knew ….

She didn't relish the prospect of letting her eldest chick leave the nest, but she also knew that she had no choice.

One consolation, she still had a few precious years before she had to think about relinquishing Stringfellow to the big wide world.

Peace restored, Connie ducked back down into the galley to finish getting things ready for lunch and a short time later, found herself grinning from ear to ear as suddenly from up top she heard the sound of her three men singing tunelessly, Row, Row, Row Your Boat at the top of their lungs.

She couldn't help thinking that she was one damned lucky woman.

_**And if they carried on like that they were going to make it rain!**_

Standing at the counter, Connie sipped her own coffee which had grown tepid while she was on deck and listened to the racket from above for a few minutes, then sighing wistfully she set about making lunch.

She reached into the ice chest to retrieve the freshly caught trout that Steven had brought home just after dawn and had scaled, gutted, boned and washed already for the pan, then placed a heavy skillet on the stove, twisting the knob to release the gas as she reached out for the box of matches she had laid in readiness beside the stove earlier.

"Drat …." She mumbled when she heard the gas escaping, a soft hissing sound, getting slower and slower, indicating that the bottle was almost empty. "I thought he said he changed it …." She complained. "Steven, will you come down here a minute! I need your muscles!"

"Better go see what your mother wants …."

Steven Hawke smiled lovingly at both of his sons, allowing a wave of tenderness toward his offspring to wash over him, dispelling all the pent up stress and anxiety about the future that he had found him self unable to shake off lately, knowing that Connie was right. They were good kids, fine young men, and they had so much to be proud of in each of them.

He loved them all so much, his wonderful family, and he knew that he was the luckiest man alive, to have been blessed with such magnificent sons.

And such a patient, wise and tolerant wife.

Steven Hawke was grinning broadly now as he brushed past St John on his way down to the galley and then paused briefly in the door way to watch as both boys scrambled back to the bow of the boat, String with that wonderfully bashful smile on his face as he gazed adoring at his big brother, and St John with that set to his shoulders that said he was only here under sufferance, as they scrambled over the deck furniture, lying down to gaze at the endless unblemished blue sky over head, as the plaintive cry of an eagle suddenly broke the peaceful tranquillity of the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm gonna be a pilot, like Dad and Uncle Dom, when I'm old enough …." Stringfellow Hawke confessed, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as he watched the eagle soaring over head. "Gonna fly, just like that eagle …."

"Sure you are kid, and I'm gonna be the first man on the moon!" St John sneered, nudging his brother gently in the ribs.

Suddenly there was a tremendous roar and the air all around him was hot and suffocating, as St John Hawke suddenly found himself flying through the air.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a somewhat startled Stringfellow also sailing through the air, little arms and legs flailing as he shot through the air, a plume of smoke and fire behind him, but then St John hit the water with a heavy smack, sinking deep into the crystal clear depths, the air knocked out of his lungs, and all he could see was water.

Panic stricken, lungs empty and burning, heart thundering in his ears, St John instinctively knew that he had to kick hard, had to get to the surface ….

At last he broke the surface of the water, coughing and spluttering, tossing his wet hair out of his eyes as he thrashed about trying to get his bearings, looking for their parents, the boat, String ….

To his horror, all that was left of the cabin cruiser was a burning hulk, debris scattered half way across the lake, burning and smouldering as the smoke began to clear, but there was no sign of either of his parents ….

Or of his little brother.

"String!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, twisting around in the water scanning the surface for any sign of Stringfellow, his ears still ringing from the explosion and his lungs still burning. "String!"

Frantic now, St John stuck his head under the water and aimed for the bottom, trying to keep his eyes open, looking for any sign of String, amazed by the clarity of the water around him as he continued to turn in circles, and then, suddenly he saw something ….

Sinking almost down to the bottom now, a limp little bundle, and he knew as surely as he knew that his parents were dead, killed by the explosion that had ripped the boat apart due to a faulty gas bottle, that it was Stringfellow.

Forgetting that he was under water, St John tried to call out to his brother and almost swallowed half the lake at the same time, and he had to kick hard to get back to the surface so that he could cough up the water he had breathed in and to drag in air to refill his lungs, before striking out to where he had seen String's unmoving body sinking toward the bottom.

Drawing in four deep breaths one after the other, feeling light headed as the oxygen rushed to his brain in the process, St John stuck his head back under the water and dived once more, kicking hard until his outstretched hands came into contact with String's shirt. He grabbed a handful of the material and pulled the small, unresisting body of his brother to him, wrapping one strong arm around his chest as suddenly disorientated in the featureless depths, he lifted his head to seek the sky shimmering blue above the waves of the lake and kicked with all his might.

St John broke the surface, gasping for air and coughing trying desperately not to sink back below the choppy waters under the weight of his brother's body.

"String! String!" he screamed, trying to work out how far out into the lake they were and if he could swim to shore and try to revive his brother ….

Or if it was already too late.

Maybe the little guy had already been under the water too long ….

"String! Breathe dammit, breathe!" St John shook the child angrily.

The little guy's face was still, bloodless, eyes closed and no sign at all that he was even still alive as frantically, St John began to swim for shore.

He was almost half drowned himself as he towed Stringfellow toward a patch of shoreline where there were no weeds or obstacles, gasping and panting, feeling his lungs burning, his legs as heavy as lead being dragged down by the weight of the waterlogged material of his jeans, but he refused to give up.

"C'mon kid …. Dammit, don't you do this to me! You irritating little insect, don't die on me!" He raged, using what little strength he had left to haul Stringfellow up onto the small patch of muddy beach and then frantically tried to remember the life saving techniques they had learned last summer when they had spent the day with his friend Larry at the lifeguard tower where he was on duty.

With shaking hands, St John rolled Stringfellow over on to his side and watched as water ran out of the corner of his mouth then he was using his hands to gently massage the younger boy's chest, carefully pushing up along each side of his tiny ribcage, encouraging more water out of his mouth.

"C'mon dammit, breathe! String!"

He yanked the younger boy's arms up over his head, trying to pump the water out of his lungs and air in, then realised that it was useless.

Then suddenly he remembered. He needed to do mouth to mouth or the little guy was a gonner ….

Pushing Stringfellow on to his back, St John ran his cold, shaking fingers down the side of the his brother's neck, seeking out a pulse, but found none, then after holding his shaking hand lightly over String's mouth to see if he could feel any breath, he used his thumb and finger to pinch String's nose closed as he tipped his head back slightly, allowing the boy's bottom jaw to drop open so that he could see if there were any obstacles in his mouth, blocking his airway.

Seeing no sign of any obstruction, St John leaned carefully over the insensate boy, sealing his lips tightly around String's, pumped two short breaths into his brother's lungs to inflate his chest, then counted out chest compressions as he had been taught, stopping long enough to check to see if String was breathing, his chest moving up and down, before repeating the process.

Suddenly, String began to cough, choking out more water as he fought to draw air deep into his lungs, and St John quickly moved back out of the way, as his brother rolled over, heaving violently as he tried to sit up, head down as he gasped raggedly, and then he was taking the little guy in his arms, pulling him to him roughly as Stringfellow continued to cough and gasp, cradling him in his arms and rocking him gently.

"Thank God …. Thank God …. I thought I'd lost you too kid …."

Instead of pushing his brother away, Stringfellow Hawke clung to St John, intermittently sobbing and coughing and gasping for breath, as they both sat on the shoreline, staring silently out into the centre of the lake, transfixed by the sight of the smouldering wreckage of the boat, shocked and confused and terrified, St John wrapping warm, strong, loving arms around the younger boy's shivering body, until at last, he realised that they couldn't just keep sitting there.

They had to go and get help ….

Although St John could not help thinking that both of his parents were beyond any kind of help now ….

They had to go and tell someone what had happened here. They had to go and raise the alarm.

"C'mon kid …. We have to go home. Back to the cabin, get on the radio to Uncle Dom. He'll know what to do …." St John encouraged, but Stringfellow was still so shocked and stunned instead of allowing his brother to help him to his feet, he clung on tighter, burying his face in St John's wet shirt, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's ok, String, I'm here …. I'll take care of you," St John vowed, raising his hand to gently cup the back of the little guy's head reassuringly. "I'll never let anything bad happen to you, I swear …."

After several more minutes of just sitting in stunned silence, St John again tried to coax Stringfellow to his feet, but even though he finally managed to get him upright, the little guy seemed rooted to the spot, big blue eyes filled with tears, fixed unblinking on the spot where the wreckage still smoked and smouldered.

St John tugged gently on his hand, but again he refused to budge.

"Mom …. Dad …." When at last he was able to speak, Stringfellow's voice was so small, so thin and so filled with pain, it tore at St John's heart.

"They're gone, String. I couldn't see them …." He confessed, knowing that the blast could have sent their bodies into the deeper, fast running water in the centre of the lake and that the current would take them down stream, and he couldn't help thinking that it was no bad thing that he hadn't been able to see them, for he did not want his last memory of them to be that of their broken, twisted bodies.

He could still see his father's smiling face as he had ducked down into the galley to help their Mother, and he was grateful that that would be his last abiding memory of his father in this life.

They had been right at the heart of the explosion, but even if they had survived that, logic told St John that by the time he had located Stringfellow and pulled him to safety, even if he had gone back out into the water, it would have been too late to do anything to save their parents, even if he had found them.

"Can't leave them …." Stringfellow stuttered through chattering teeth, and St John began to realise that it wasn't just the fact that they were both soaking wet and starting to get cold.

The little guy was in shock.

They both were.

They couldn't stay here any longer. They needed to get help.

St John knew that he wasn't hurt physically, he had just been winded and was exhausted and half drowned after rescuing Stringfellow, but maybe his brother had been hit by debris from the explosion and had been knocked out, and that was why he had been out of it, sinking to the bottom of the lake and had almost drowned.

He needed to get String to a doctor to get him checked out. They both needed to get into some warm clothes, and they needed to call Dom or the Sheriff or someone ….

With tears streaming unashamedly down his face, St John Hawke reached out and pulled his distraught brother into his arms, holding onto his quivering little body tightly as he gazed down into his big blue eyes.

"We're gonna be alright, buddy. You and me. I know you think you should stay, that maybe you could help them …. But …. They're gone, kid," his own voice cracked on a sob now as he realised exactly what he was saying.

"And I need you to be a man about this right now, String. We both need to face this like men. It's what they would have wanted. We have to do the right thing, String, and that means going back to the cabin and getting on the radio to let someone know what happened here," he reasoned softly, looking down into his little brother's face and seeing the fear and shock and confusion in his eyes, but also something else, the one thing he had counted on.

Trust.

String was smart, he knew that what St John was saying was true, but his heart was still heavy in his chest as he allowed St John to take him by the hand and drag him away from the ghastly sight on the lake, leading him through the rough terrain of the mountain woodland back to the place that they called home, and into a more uncertain future.

They had gone further down the lake than he had realised, and it was hard work, legs like rubber pumping furiously to keep up with St John's longer stride, but his brother did not make a fuss or get angry with him when it became obvious that he was having trouble keeping up, instead he slowed his own pace, shortened his own stride to match his brother's and encouraged him to keep going, helping him up when he tripped and stumbled because he couldn't see where he was going for the tears streaming silently down his face, ashamed to be crying like a baby, then noticed the trail of tears coursing down St John's face too, as eventually the younger boy's legs threatened to buckle under him, and his big brother scooped him up into his arms and carried him the rest of the way home, strong arms enveloping him, cradling him against the solid wall of his muscular chest, as String wrapped his own stick thin arms around St John's neck and hung on.

Reaching the cabin at last, St John headed straight up the stairs to the bedroom he and String shared, setting his little brother down on the edge of the bed briefly, while he dug out clean clothes for them both to get into, and then he lifted Stringfellow off the bed and took him into the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast, as hot as he could stand it, and then without embarrassment or hesitation he stripped the clothes off himself and his brother and pulled Stringfellow in to the jet of hot water with him, rubbing his little arms and chest trying to get some warmth back into his body and all the time Stringfellow remained mute and almost catatonic as he endured his brother's tender ministrations.

Dried off and dressed in clean clothes and a little warmer at last, St John looked at his little brother's white face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and knew that he was in shock.

His own body was shaking violently in reaction too now, the adrenalin that had enabled him to get them both back here safely having almost gone.

Obediently, Stringfellow took his brother's hand and followed him back down the stairs to the big living area, and allowed St John to sit him down on the couch, raising his feet up so that he could lie back, and then St John was throwing a thick blanket over him and tucking it around him, reaching out to push back a tendril of damp hair from his forehead before going to the bar to pour out a splash of brandy for each of them.

"Dad'll kill …." String mumbled through a mouthful of chattering teeth, watching as St John returned with two beautiful cut glass balloon glasses each with about an inch of dark amber liquid sloshing inside, then realised what he had been about to say and fresh tears began to roll unhindered down his cheeks.

"I don't think he'd mind, kid …. Drink it. It's medicinal …." St John advised, downing his own medicine in one gulp and then almost fought not to gag as the alcohol burned its way down his throat.

Reluctantly, Stringfellow took a sip, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell even before he took his first taste. It burned his mouth and his throat and he too was coughing by the time he had swallowed the first gulp and St John had to take the glass off him before he spilled what was left all over himself.

"Sinj …."

There was hint of panic in the younger boy's voice as St John began to walk away from him, wanting to take his mother's precious crystal glass back to the bar before it got broken, his intention being to then go to the radio, located in a cupboard just off the kitchen, to try to reach Dominic Santini, but the fear and the panic he saw and heard in Stringfellow's voice brought him to an abrupt halt.

"Don't leave me …. Don't leave me!"

"I'm not leaving you, String …." St John assured, setting the glass down on the bar before striding quickly back to squat down beside his brother as he lay on the couch, big blue eyes filled with fear. "I'll never leave you, kid, I promise, but I have to go use the radio. We have to try to reach Uncle Dom …. Ok?"

String nodded gently, but when St John made to rise, he immediately reached out to grab his hand.

St John Hawke looked into his little brother's face and he was suddenly consumed by a tidal wave of tenderness and love for the little guy.

He'd been so brave, so grown up, but the shock was getting to him now, and all he really wanted was his big brother to stay with him, to reassure him that he wasn't alone, but he was also scared of acting like a baby in his brother's eyes, especially as his brother had already explained that he needed to be a man about this …. He was afraid of letting his brother down, of letting himself down ...

"C'mere squirt …." St John reached out and pulled the young boy into his arms, cradling his slender shaking body to him as the tears and sobs overwhelmed his frail frame.

The boys held on tightly to each other, and finally St John too allowed his grief free reign.

He did not care if it was the macho thing to do or not. They were brothers, and they needed each other.

What shame was there in them holding each other and sharing their grief, comforting each other, supporting each other?

All they had left was each other.

St John Hawke was enough of a man not to be ashamed to let his little brother see him weep.

They held onto each other tightly, and then at last, St John lifted Stringfellow from the couch and carried him with him to the radio, cradling him on his lap as he pulled up one of the dining chairs to sit on and reached out to the radio to make their call for help.

Stringfellow dropped his head to rest on St John's broad shoulder, in awe of his older brother, touched by his silent tears and the gentle way he had held him close, snuggling in closer, his arms wrapped tightly around St John's waist and neck, as he sniffled and snuffled and tried to get himself under control so that he could face the ordeal ahead, when Dominic or the sheriff or whoever turned up to find out what had happened.

When it was done, and the boys sat silently, waiting for help to come, St John placed a loving hand on the back of Stringfellow's head, drawing his gaze up to his face at last, and the smile Stringfellow saw there took his breath away, filled with such sadness and love and something more, a silent promise that so long as he lived, his big brother would always be there for him and Stringfellow did not need to force himself to return the smile with equal sorrow and a fierce love, making his own silent pledge, that he would never forget this day, the compassionate and loving way his brother had taken care of himself, the fact that he had saved his life ... and that if St John ever needed him he would not fail him …. He would be there to save him too, one day ...


	4. Chapter 4

Dominic Santini watched with his heart in his mouth as the Mountain Search and Rescue team closed the zipper on the heavy duty plastic black bag that contained the body of his oldest and dearest friend, Steven Hawke, and wondered how on earth he was going to go one.

The Search and Rescue team had been out since first light, it having been too late for them to do anything the previous afternoon, by the time the call had come through that there had been an accident.

Everyone had known that it wasn't really going to turn out to be a rescue anyway, after hearing from both of the boys what had happened.

They had dragged the lake, and then finally just before lunch, someone had found Connie's body snagged on a clump of rocks down stream, and shortly after that, Steven's too.

One consolation, Dominic thought sadly, at least they had been together at the end.

He was so proud of the boys, those precious boys, still so shocked and numb.

He knew that if St John hadn't reacted so quickly, they could have lost String too, and then the young man really stepped up to the plate and had acted maturely and had taken excellent care of his younger brother until Santini had arrived.

However, both boys had been overjoyed to see the older man landing his helicopter on the jetty just before sunset the previous evening.

They had all spent a little time huddled up together in front of the roaring fire, silent and thoughtful, the boys weeping silently, clinging onto each other, and to him, the ghosts of Connie and Steven Hawke all around them, neither caring if it was the manly thing to do or not, and Santini had been glad that they were dealing with their grief. Better than bottling it up, which he was having to do, because he knew that the power of his grief at the loss of his dearest friends would be too shocking and frightening for the boys to have to witness.

He would do his grieving when he was alone.

He had not wanted to rush them, but eventually Dominic had coaxed both boys into getting clothes for the night, knowing that Stringfellow was deeply shocked and maybe even had a mild concussion and needed to be checked over by a doctor, and so he had finally persuaded them to allow him to take them back to the city, to a hospital, where the doctors had immediately decided to keep both boys in over night, under observation, and Santini had stayed until dawn, watching over both of them, holding their hands and reassuring them that he had not deserted them, and then, reluctantly, he had made them understand that someone had to go back, had to be there when their parents were found, to identify them ….

Reassuring them that he would be back for them later ….

Torn by the fear and grief and desolation he could see in String's eyes, but relieved to find reassurance and understanding in St John's. It had to be done and the young man was grateful that their father's oldest friend was prepared to spare them that horror and heartache

Santini had been touched by the tender and sensitive and protective way that St John was dealing with String. He suddenly seemed so mature.

_**Helluva way to have to grow up ….**_

Thank God they had each other to lean on, to support each other.

And now they had him too.

It wasn't over yet.

There were still dark days ahead of all of them, decisions about the future that would have to be made, no matter how painful, but there was one thing Dominic Santini was sure of, the boys would have a home with him.

He had promised Steven Hawke a long time ago that if anything ever happened to him, he would take on responsibility for his wife and children, as if they were his own, and he intended to keep that promise.

Suddenly, watching the Search and Rescue team carefully placing Steven Hawke's body into the waiting hearse, Dominic Santini didn't know if he was up to the task.

These were two very special, wonderful young men, and Connie and Steven had done such a marvellous job of raising them and guiding them through life.

Personally he had little experience of parenting, and he doubted that either of them would ever actually consider accepting him in the role of father, and he could never dream of filling that man's shoes in his sons' eyes, but there was one thing that he knew that he could do for these glorious young men.

He could continue to be their friend, loving them and supporting them and being there to catch them if they should fall, and somehow, with time, all three of them would come through this.

For now, both young men just needed to know that they were not alone, that they had someone who loved them, and with whom they could share their grief, someone who could help them to face tomorrow ….

Because there was nothing else that they could do, and life had to go on.

So on we go ….


End file.
